The Greatest Thing
by zeldazonk
Summary: (How many fics have that name?) Two gifts from Satine to Christian after her death. . .


"Camille, I'm sleepy!" The precocious three-year-old boy followed his twin sister through the dark hallway, trying not to trip on his papa's nightshirt. "Why are we waking up?"  
  
"To see Papa," the little girl declared, grabbing her brother's hand.  
  
"I'm scared. It's dark."  
  
"Don't be a baby, Olivier."  
  
"I'm not a baby!"  
  
"You are acting like one. Now be quiet, we don't want to scare Daddy."  
  
The two children in their pristine white pajamas crept silently down the hall to their father's bedroom, neither making a sound. "Shh!" Camille warned Olivier. "Daddy's sleeping."  
  
Both peeked in the doorway to see their father sleeping soundly, his hair mussed and his hands marred with inkblots. His breath came in slow, heavy exhalations.  
  
Being the older of the twins, Camille snuck in first. A diminutive version of her mother with auburn hair and sapphire eyes, she was the headstrong leader of the twins. "Come on, Olive."  
  
The serious little boy with dark hair and the same eyes as his sister stuck out his lower lip. "Don't wake him up! He's dreaming!"  
  
"About Maman." Camille decided, creeping up onto the bed and laying down, lighter than a feather, beside her father. He did not stir.  
  
Olivier cautiously tiptoed to the bedside and clambered in beside his twin, making sure his father's sleep was not disturbed. The boy curled in closer to the warmth of Camille and listened to the heavy breath of his papa. "Camille?" He finally whispered.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Can we wake Papa up now?"  
  
It was in a dream that he felt the presence of her. Each night, the ghost of his beloved haunted his dreams. But in these nighttime sightings, Satine let it be known that she was happy and that she loved them all: Camille, Olivier, and Christian.  
  
Christian's dreams tonight were interrupted by the tiny birdlike voice of his daughter whispering to her brother. The little angel twins were curled together in his bed, something they did regularly. Opening his eyes, bleary with sleep, he turned to see them together, his beautiful babies, their chubby arms holding the other. Camille, with her red curls wild and her eyes bright, was the miniature version of Satine. And the solemn Olivier, his cheeks flushed and his hair matted, was his father's image, only with Satine's eyes.  
  
"Hello, babies." He said softly.  
  
"Good morning, Papa!" Chirped Camille.  
  
"We're sorry we waked you, Papa," Olivier apologized, looking so serious it made Christian chuckle a bit.  
  
"We learned a song for you."  
  
"Will you sing it?" Christian shifted Camille so that each of his children were snuggled into his sides. "For your papa?" Christian placed a kiss on each child's childishly plump cheeks.  
  
They had been born only days before Satine's tragic death, five months after the staging of "Spectacular, Spectacular." An elaborate stage to fool the Duke of Monroth had been successful, leaving the two reunited lovers together for the rest of their lives, a blissful existence together.  
  
But it was not to be. Soon after the birth of Camille and Olivier, Satine took her last breaths. The strain of her sickness on her lungs had left her more fragile than china, and the added weight of childbirth had been too much for her delicate condition.  
  
The twins had kept Christian together during the months after her death. There was no way he could just give up with them to care for. And what care they needed! Being an inexperienced man in the ways of babies, Harold enlisted Nini and Mome Fromage to help care for Satine and Christian's children. Toulouse and the Argentinean were frequent visitors to Christian's London apartment. It seemed that in times of great tragedy, there was great joy.  
  
When the twins grew older, Toulouse became their closest friend, next to their doting father. Christian allowed the artist, who was slowly becoming sicker and sicker, to care for his children during the day. He'd come home to find Toulouse, Camille, and Olivier covered in paint, making "masterpieces" on the walls.  
  
One particular painting had struck a chord for Christian. It was Satine, holding the hands of her twins. The unusually bright twins had proudly told him it was "Maman."  
  
And now they were nearly four years of age. Camille sang all day long, songs she made up playing with her dolls, the "babbling brook", while Olivier was often poring over paintings in books. Their "Uncle Loose" was just a memory now, for he too had joined Satine and Nini in death.  
  
"Will you sing me your song, kitten?" Christian asked Camille. The little girl looked into her father's eyes like the pious angel she wasn't, and grinned happily.  
  
"Yes, Papa. Come on, Olive. Let's sing our song for Daddy."  
  
The little boy's eyes were heavy and drooping, but his sister dragged him to his feet so both were standing before Christian. Olivier's tiny body was draped in one of Christian's old nightshirts, trailing behind him like a gown's bustle. He clutched a piece of red silk, a fragment from one of Satine's dresses. The boy regarded his father with serious blue eyes and after a small nudge from his sister, they started to sing.  
  
"Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place. Suddenly it moves with such a perfect grace."  
  
The tiny voices joined in song immediately sent shivers down Christian's spine and tears into his eyes.  
  
"Suddenly my wife doesn't seem such a waste. It all removes around you." The twins stumbled a bit over the words, but neither faltered. They looked so innocent, so beautiful in the dawn's light. "And there's no mountain too high, no river too wide, sing out this song and I'll be there by your side!"  
  
"That's all we know, Papa," stated Camille, climbing back up beside him.  
  
"Who . . . who taught you that, darlings?"  
  
"Maman did," Camille answered as if it were the simplest question in the world.  
  
"When did Maman teach you this song?"  
  
"In the night. Maman came into our room. She had wings!" Olivier's eyes grew large. "She sang us the song and then she cried."  
  
"Maman was beautiful! She had sparkly hair!" Camille added. "She told us that she loved us very much, and when she kissed us goodnight, it felt like- "  
  
"Magic!" Olivier cut his sister off, an unusual happening. "She said we should come and sing it to you."  
  
"Did we do it right?" The twins turned hopeful eyes toward their father.  
  
"Oh, yes you did. Did you know that Papa wrote that song for your maman?"  
  
Camille and Olivier shook their heads. "Did you love Maman very much, Papa?"  
  
"Very, very much," Christian answered, pulling his children closer to him.  
  
"Will you tell us about Maman?" Olivier asked, interrupted by a yawn. The little boy and girl with their flushed cheeks and rumpled hair were so darling that Christian just had to laugh.  
  
"Not today. There are two little cherubs who must get to bed!"  
  
"Not sleepy, Papa," Camille complained half-heartedly, climbing into her father's bed beside her brother. "Tell me about Maman."  
  
Christian kissed the top of each child's head and let them cuddle into his sides. "Tomorrow."  
  
"Okay, Papa." Camille kissed her sleeping brother's cheek and closed her eyes. "Goodnight. I love you, Papa."  
  
"I love you, princess."  
  
  
  
He sat awake for a short time after that, studying the sleeping angels that were his twins, his blood and Satine's. "Satine," he whispered. "They're perfect. They're part of you and part of me, and they have kept me alive. Thank you, Satine, for the greatest gift you could have ever given me." He fingered Camille's red curls and Olivier's rumpled dark hair, kissed each child softly, and whispered to the sky, "I love you, Satine."  
  
Somewhere in the far-off other world, Satine was watching. And she was happy.  
  
THE END 


End file.
